


The Story is in the Etchings

by LittleMagicFox



Series: A Home Inside Your Heart [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Small Amounts of Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMagicFox/pseuds/LittleMagicFox
Summary: Bilbo's plan had been to go home, back to the Shire. Then things changed and he didn't feel the pull for home quite so strongly.He didn't think he'd end up being forced to go home, not like this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Direct continuation of my earlier work, "Evermore" which was supposed to be a oneshot. As in only ONE single fic.  
> Now there's at least two, with at least one or two more after this.
> 
> This was ORIGINALLY supposed to have another song from the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack, but when it got to 4k, and I STILL wasn't where I needed to be to fit the song in, it got pushed back to at least part 3.  
> Still no beta, so all faults/weird piecing together-ness is on me.

They were a few miles into Mirkwood when night fell. Gandalf had insisted on going through the forest, considering it would cut some time off their travel, especially since he was able to guide them through and keep them on the path. Bilbo was still hesitant, recalling the huge spiders, the weeks spent locked up in Thranduil’s dungeons under the shadows of the ring, but made no protests.

 

When night fell, and Gandalf pulled the pony and cart off the to the side of the path, Bilbo crawled into the back of the cart to get some shut eye after Gandalf insisted that he needed the rest after everything that had happened, and Bilbo couldn't agree more. 

 

So up he climbed, pushing back the tarp that covered the back part of the cart from the elements and settling into the plush furs and fabrics that had been laid on the wooden floor. He shuffled around for a few moments, trying to get comfortable when he noticed the bundle of blankets and furs from Fili lying in the corner. He reached forward and grabbed them, dragging them forward to sift through the pile for a lighter blanket. It was starting to get chilly, but with the tarp blocking most of the wind, and all the furs insulating the floor under him, he wasn’t too afraid of it getting too cold that night.

 

As he started to shift through the fabrics, throwing the heavier blankets off to the side, he was quick to pause when he noticed the unmistakable blue, the Durin blue, coat sitting in the bundle. There was no way it would have accidentally fallen into to the pile, it was deliberately put there, and Bilbo could feel his heart beating and his throat clench. The coat was fully mended, the small rips and tears from the long journey and the battle no longer visible, and the bloodstains washed free. 

 

His hands clenched in the fabric, bringing it close to his chest and tucking it under his chin. He’d left the mountain with the clothes on his back and his sword, not daring to take anything else lest he be called a thief again and hunted down. He didn’t think his friends would let that happen, not again, but as he hadn’t spoken with Thorin since that moment on Ravenhill, where he’d gathered the dwarf in his arms as he laid bleeding in the snow and listened to Thorin utter what had been his last words, Bilbo didn’t know if they still stood. If Thorin had really forgiven him for everything. 

 

He’d stayed by the King’s side for the long, uncertain, weeks that he lay sleeping.  His body was bruised and broken, but he lived still, and it was only with the help of Thranduil and his healers that the royal line had survived at all. But there Bilbo had stayed, wiping Thorin’s brow, and giving him water, and thin broth to keep his strength up. It wasn’t until Thorin showed signs of waking that Bilbo left. He couldn’t bear to have Thorin wake and spit vile words at him, not again, so he left Thorin’s side. He went to meetings with Balin, to discuss the payment of the Elves and Men, and he made his rounds through the healing wards, helping Oin to the best of his abilities, but never back to Thorin’s side.

 

Weeks after the battle, Gandalf had approached him and told him about the harshness of the Eastern winters, and how they’d have only a short time left to leave, if he still intended to return home. Bilbo had been shocked, and spent the next two days trapped inside his own head, debating with himself if he should stay or go. On one hand, he had his home to get back to, in the Shire, with all his mother’s antiques and his father’s armchair. But on the other side of the matter, he had all his friends. Sure, he was civil and friendly with his cousins and neighbors in the Shire, but he’d only truly been close to the Gamgee’s and his cousin Drogo. He’d become Odd, over the years, in the Shire. Never marrying, never settling down to raise a family, and he was always cooped up in his smial with his books. Here he was just… Bilbo. A friend to many.

 

But in the end, he decided to go. He couldn’t stay in the mountain, not knowing if Thorin’s words on Ravenhill were true or not, and despite the stories being told Bilbo wasn’t brave. He couldn’t just walk up to Thorin and ask him, because hearing it first hand that he wasn’t wanted in the mountain would be worse than leaving by his own choice.

 

So he started to prepare for the journey. He gathered small bits of food that he could take with him, a few pieces of dried fish, some elvish bread, and told his friends. They were upset and angry, of course, demanding that he stay, pleading with him not to leave them, not now before the mountain was fully reclaimed and before they got a chance to show him Erebor in it’s glory again, but it was Fili who put an end to it all. He hobbled over to Bilbo, patted his shoulder and slowly brought their foreheads together, and made Bilbo promise to write, to keep in touch with them all. He said he understood why Bilbo was choosing to go, and that he did not begrudge him his need for home, for was that not why they had crossed Middle Earth and slayed a dragon? For home?

 

The rest eventually gave up their fights, although Bofur insisted that if he was going to leave, they’d send him off with a bang, something joyous and bright for him to look back on, so that all his memories in the mountain weren’t so dark. And what an event it was, Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh at the rambunctious group. They’d spent hours the night before he left with good food, song and cheer, and the only thing that had been missing had been Thorin.

 

Bilbo had figured that the King at least would’ve shown up for a small amount of time, if nothing else to wish him well on his travels, but in the end it was probably better that he hadn’t shown. Bilbo couldn’t tell how he’d have reacted if Thorin had showed up and acted hostilely, or even worse, pretended everything was alright. So, they partied the night away, and the next morning, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, minus one, had shown up at the gates of the Lonely Mountain to see him off.  

 

Tears were shed, final goodbyes were said, and hugs were given all around. Fili and Kili had hobbled over together, and Bilbo’s eyes had welled with tears once again when the boys had wrapped him tightly in a shared hug. He’d always have a spot in his heart for them, having come to think of them as younger cousin’s - or even nephews, yes, more like nephews - of his own during their travels. 

 

And so, he'd call out his final parting remarks as he climbed onto the front of the cart with Gandalf, waving back to his friends and taking one last look at the mountain as he set off for home. 

 

Taking a deep, shuddering, breath, Bilbo pulled himself out of his reverie, buried his face in the fabric before slinging it around his shoulders. The coat would be much too big for him, but it would give him comfort all the lest. As he shrugged his arms through the sleeve, and pulled the coat tight around his torso, he let his body flop backwards into the furs, clinging to the coat tightly as his eyes started to burn. He let his hands flutter over the material of the coat, taking in the soft fur and the velvety texture. He pulled his hands up into the sleeves, clutching at the hems and bringing them up to his nose. The coat still smelled like Thorin, and brought Bilbo back to when things had changed for them, up on the Carrock. He’d thrown himself in front of Azog, knowing there’d be no way for him to best the beast in a fight, but his heart had jumped up into his throat watching Thorin get tossed around like a rag-doll, and his feet had moved before he’d made any conscious decision.

 

Bilbo turned on his side and pulled his leg up closer to his torso, curling himself into the protection the coat offered, not from the cold but from his own thoughts. The coat had been so warm, and Thorin’s heartbeat had been so loud underneath it when he’d embraced Bilbo on top of the Carrock, that Bilbo couldn’t help but relax feeling the familiar weight again. As his body shifted, Bilbo felt a weight inside the right pocket shift and slide against his leg. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying with every part of his soul that it wasn’t that thrice accursed Arkenstone, that Thorin hadn’t been so enthralled by it that he still carried it everywhere he went in his pocket. But when Bilbo slid his hand down along the side of the coat, slowly and hesitantly, and into the pocket he froze, that was no stone inside, but a smaller trinket. One much more delicate and precious.

 

He pulled his hand out of the coat’s pocket, sitting up again, and holding his clenched fist in front of him. He didn’t want to open his hand, didn’t want to believe what could be inside. He vaguely remembered a conversation about courting that he’d had with Thorin, and he remembered the King had remarked about the similarity in their cultures, that rings were exchanged between spouses, and Bilbo felt as though he was to be ill. Had he made off with Thorin’s Bonded ring? He’d never mentioned anything about a Queen, or even a partner, but what else could be nestled safely inside the pocket of the majestic coat he never took off?  

 

Bilbo took a deep breath and slowly opened his hand, letting the ring sit gently in the center of his palm, and gasped. The ring was a pale yellow, smooth and shiny as could be, and Bilbo could just barely make out the tiny detailed etchings in the band. It was too dark to see what they were inside the cart, so he climbed to his feet and jumped down out of the wagon. Gandalf was still sat by the fire they had made when they first pulled off to the side, and Bilbo quickly made his way closer, eager to see the designs, completely unaware of the small, content grin that settled onto Gandalf’s face. As he stood there, Thorin’s coat trailing behind him, twisting the ring back and forth, and seeing that not only were there etchings on the ring, there were the tiniest flecks of colour, probably chips of gemstones that had been embedded inside the band.

 

In the pale light of the fire, Bilbo felt his breath catch in his throat as he made out image after image,  _ flower after flower,  _ inscribed and embedded inside the ring. Bilbo could make out the deep red, white, and yellow embedded deep inside the etchings of the roses, the opaque white and yellows that made up the shape of an edelweiss flower, the bright purple of the heliotrope, the tiny spots of white littered amongst the shapes of sweet woodruff, and the bright yellow of the daffodils. His brows pulled down, and a frown marred his face. Despite the gems, the ring was in no way made for a dwarf, not only was the ring decorated with flowers and growing things, the ring was way too small to fit on a dwarven finger.

 

Bilbo pursed his lips to stop them from trembling and turned back towards the wagon, the ring clutched tightly in his palm. He climbed back into the pile of furs and stared down at the glittering gold band through the darkness. He scrubbed at his eyes with his left hand, trying to will away the stinging that persisted. The ring might’ve been an heirloom, right? There was no way Thorin would’ve made him something like this.

 

Bilbo thought back to the conversation they’d had in Laketown, when his cold had been at the peak of its cruelty and had him bed-bound, in the massive man sized bed, and swathed in blankets a-plenty. Thorin had come in the room, dressed in his simple tunic and pants and, after removing his boots, sat himself alongside Bilbo in the bed. Bilbo had originally started to complain, not wanting to get the dwarf sick, but Thorin had reassure him that he would be fine as Mahal’s children did not catch the illnesses of the menfolk. 

 

So there they sat, with Bilbo bundled up under a multitude of blankets, and Thorin just leaning back against the headboard. Bilbo had been so warm, and relaxed that he just started to doze off when Thorin had asked his question. Bilbo’s head had snapped up slightly from where it had started to droop onto his chest, and he made a questioning hum.

 

With a low chuckle, Thorin repeated his question. “Hobbits, how do they court one another?” He shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against Bilbo’s, which made the hobbit lean into him and let his eyes slide partly shut.

 

“Well,” Bilbo started with a sniffle, “most hobbits will take the lad or lass they’re interested in on long walks through the Shire, or will go on picnics, just to get to know one another, of course.” Here he paused to cough, before snuggling back into his blankets and turning slightly into the warmth of Thorin’s shoulder, paying no attention to the sudden stiffness, and trying - and failing horribly - to stifle a yawn. 

 

“After they get to know each other, if they’re still sweet on one another, the suitor would present their sweetheart with a bouquet of intentions. Then there’s the engagement, which really isn’t that complicated, and then when they’re to be wed, they exchange rings, and live happily ever after.” he finished with a sigh. Bilbo took a few seconds to sit with his eyes shut, just breathing, snuggled close to Thorin before glancing up at the dwarf momentarily before laying his head back down, eyes closed.. “And dwarves? What are your people’s customs?”

 

Thorin’s frame relaxed slightly, his shoulders dropping the tenseness they’d acquired since Bilbo had curled into him. He reached forward gently with the arm furthest from the hobbit, and gently traced the lightest patterns over the hand Bilbo had curled around the top of the blanket that was practically laying on his chest. He carefully adjusted the arm that Bilbo was resting against, gently and slowly sliding it behind the hobbit’s back as he spoke. 

 

“Dwarves are a proud race, and we show our pride and our love through our craft, as you know, and courting isn’t much different. Where your hobbits will take walks or meals together, dwarves will bond over crafting.” Thorin shifted his body down further on the bed, carefully arranging Bilbo closer to his chest as his arm wrapped around his back fully.

 

“Dwarves would show interest in another by aiding with their craft,” Thorin let his voice drop, trying to stay quiet, as Bilbo’s breath had started to even out and he didn’t wish to shake him from his light slumber. “Not to be confused with young dwarves seeking apprenticeship, as that would be stated at the first, but after, when both dwarves have made their intentions known, a gift is crafted.” Thorin turned his head and let his chin gently rest above Bilbo’s curls, his thumb rubbing against Bilbo’s shoulder as he gently pulled him closer. 

 

“Similar to your flowers, gems and precious metals have meaning to dwarves,” he murmured, shifting further down until they were practically laying side by side, no longer propped up against the headboard. “Gifts to show off a dwarves craft, embedded with precious stones, that would be pleasing to the intended would be exchanged, and should both accept their suitors gifts, after a period they’d be bound, and rings would be exchanged, as is the same as your hobbit ways.” He let his voice trail off, as he tightened his hold on the hobbit and carefully let himself drift into a light slumber. He’d been gone before Bilbo’s head had cleared the following morning.

 

As Bilbo sat in the cart, the ring in his hand, and thought through all the actions from the Carrock leading up to laketown, his heart continued to race in his chest. There was no denying who the ring had been intended for, what the ring  _ meant.  _ Bilbo was no genius on what the gemstones in his ring meant, but based on the flowers etched deep into the gold band, he could bet they were along the same lines. Beauty, love, devotion, respect, humility and new beginnings. 

 

The flowers spoke of how Bilbo had to imagine Thorin had been feeling after the carrock, the regret at his actions, the care and devotion he’d shown afterwards at Beorn’s, the love and devotion in Laketown - even if Bilbo had been fairly unaware, as sick as he was - and Bilbo was overwhelmed. Trust Thorin not to say anything until he’d already left the mountain.

 

Bilbo slumped over, resting his head in his hands and clenching at the curls that fell between his fingers. Thorin had hurt him, tried to kill him, and had banished Bilbo - all while under the goldlust - but it was Thorin all the same. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he could ever properly forgive Thorin for that. How do you forgive someone you were so close to, for dangling you over the edge of a precipice, for threatening your very life, not to mention casting you aside for some pretty trinkets. 

 

But Bilbo couldn't deny that he still cared for Thorin, that he'd much prefer to be back at the mountain with his friends and his king. His original plan had been just this, to return home to the Shire after the business with the dragon was done, but along the way he'd made friends, family, and his desire to return home quickly faded. 

 

Even at the peak of Thorin’s good sickness he hadn't desired for home, had put up with the nonsense, was willing to stick by him and see him through it all. Until Thorin had cast him out, called him traitor and thief. And then Bilbo could hardly stand to look at him, to see what Thorin had become, had changed from the dwarf he had come to admire, had come to love, to some unnameable monster wearing Thorin's skin. Only then had Bilbo really longed for home, for a place where he didn't have to look upon Thorin's face and not recognize who stared back.

 

But here he was, miles into Mirkwood, a whole day's ride away from Erebor, on his way home to the Shire. Did he turn around now, run back to Thorin and risk his whole life or did he return home, write the book on the journey, and then return once more in hopes of a new start, like the flowers on Thorin's ring? 

 

Bilbo let out a huff and allowed his body to flop heavily backwards into the furs. There was no point in getting worked up about it tonight. He'd make a decision in the morning.

 

By the time Bilbo woke, he could feel the heat of the sun beating down through the canvas of the wagon, and the gentle sway side to side of the horses pull, and he sat up with a jolt. 

 

“Good morning, my dear lad!” Gandalf called from the front of the wagon. “The horses and I were eager to get a move on this morning, and I’d dare say we're most of the way through the forest by now.”

 

Bilbo’s heart leaped in his chest, and he scrambled for the flap of the wagon, desperately hoping that Gandalf was just playing a nasty trick on him, and that they weren't that far already. He hadn't even decided if he had wanted to turn back yet! But as he pulled back the fabric, looking through the opening made his heart sink deep into his stomach. The woods here seemed brighter and less confusing than the woods closer to the middle of the forest, and Bilbo realized then that he'd be going home regardless, there'd be no way for him to make it back on his own now.

 

He flopped back on the butt, his shoulders sagging. There’d be no point in wasting time sulking over it, so he let himself lay back into the furs, dragging Thorin’s coat closer, and drifted off back to sleep.

 

Days passed and along they travelled. The air had cooled considerably, and Bilbo spent most of his time in the back of the carriage, staring at the ring he had taken to wearing on his right hand. He didn’t feel right wearing it on his left hand, where it was meant to go. He’d save that for when he saw Thorin again. Bilbo pulled himself up once the movement in the carriage had stopped. He carefully pulled Thorin's coat tighter around his shoulders and gently crawled out of the cart. He carefully made his way through the rocks and twigs to the fireside. He flipped the tail of the coat under his butt, and folded himself down onto the ground in front of the fire near where Gandalf sat on a rock.

 

“How much further do you figure we have to go until we’re out of the forest, Gandalf?” Bilbo asked, drawing the edges of the coat closer together. He’d not taken it off since he found it, and despite it having worn it for ages, the smell of Thorin was quickly diminishing, and Bilbo would mourn the day where he could no longer lift the collar to his nose and smell the dwarf king. 

 

“Hmm…” Gandalf hummed, biting down on the stem of his pipe, and drawing in a breath of whichever pipeweed he had managed to encounter along his travels. “I say tomorrow should be our last day in the forest, and my dear boy, if we manage to make good time we may even make Beorn’s by nightfall.” He glanced over at Bilbo and then rubbed his chin, “I dare say, it must be getting awfully cold, as you’ve not taken off that thick coat since the first night!”

 

Bilbo could feel a rushing heat start deep in his chest that started to crawl up his neck to his ears, and carefully buried his nose deep into the furry collar, not looking away from the fire. “I’ll admit that the weather is more… crisp, than I am used to, and the extra warmth has been comfortable.”

 

Gandalf hummed again, more cheerful and gave a short brisk nod, making a pleased muttering noise. “Of course, of course.” He drew again on his pipe, letting the smoke rest in his lungs for a moment, before blowing out some rings. He extended his arm towards Bilbo, the pipe resting casually in his hand, but pulled it back when Bilbo gave a light shake of his head. “As I said, by morrow’s eve, we should be either very close, or at Beorn’s, and we’ll finally be on our proper way to getting you home my lad!”

 

Bilbo nodded, staring deep into the fire. Home. Right.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Lisa entirely for encouraging this <3


End file.
